


Through a broken mirror

by tenten_d



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4150977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenten_d/pseuds/tenten_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of various drabbles, focusing on Darcy and Loki, preferably together, randomly written for your viewing pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Just general silliness.

Darcy is not particularly pleased when she comes home to discover that her two year old son is standing next to a broken vase. It's not the object she's worried about. Instead she quietly takes in the droplets of blood staining the floor. Her baby boy isn't crying but tear tracks mark his cheeks and Darcy know exactly what happened.

She bends down and takes the boy in her arms whispering soothingly as her hand traces the sole of his tiny foot. Sticky thick red blood stains her hand in a matter of seconds. Darcy doesn't panic; she can't afford to. "How did you manage to do this Derrick?" she asks gently. The child doesn't answer; he rarely speaks even though he can do so perfectly.

Darcy sets him on the couch and walks to the bathroom. She returns with a bottle of disinfectant and some bandages. She puts sanitizer on one piece of cloth and starts wiping the small wound her son managed to obtain in his play. Derrick is silent, his green eyes attentively watching her. After the cut is clean a bandage is wrapped around it carefully.

"I'm sorry." Derrick says, making Darcy jump. "I didn't mean to break the vase." he offers and his lips arrange in a pout.

"I know." Darcy's voice is gentle; she is trying to comfort her child. "It's alright." she said and runs her fingers through his slick black hair. Offhandedly she notices that he looks more like his father with every passing day. She's just worried that one day his skin will suddenly turn blue. Darcy has nothing against blue, but others might.

She kisses Derrick's forehead and the bell rings suddenly. With a sigh she gets up from the floor. "Stay here." she tells him. "And stay put." she warns. Derrick flashes her one innocent smile and Darcy inwardly worries. He is too much like his father. Even so she saunters to the door ready to give the unsuspecting visitor hell. It's late, for the love of God!

The door is opened with a sharp tug from Darcy. She opens her mouth to say something but immediately stops. Her eyes, blue pools, are fixed on the person in the door way. She lets out a shaky breath, it's all that she can manage, and feels all of her power leaving her. This can't be happening. No way. Not to her. The universe must be laughing at her. Still no words come out.

"Darcy Lewis I wonder if you have forgotten your manners." the intruders says in a familiar drawl.

As if woken from a daze Darcy replies, "No! But maybe you have. Loki Odinson, why are you here? And at this late hour too."

"You didn't actually think you could hide forever." He enters the apartment without trouble. "Did you?" The question is rhetorical. "That would be plain stupid and you are far more intelligent than that." Loki hangs his coat and turns to smirk at her.

"Hope never dies." Darcy aims to stab with her words. "But you sure are choking mine."

Loki frowns. He gracefully raises his hand towards her and Darcy shrinks back. The man stops for a second and gives her a chilling look. "Darcy I came here to-" he never finishes.

"Mommy!" her son yells from the rooms and Darcy is vaguely aware that a storm has started outside. Her brain however quickly pulls her together. Loki doesn't know about Derrick so his surprise is not unexpected and Darcy panics. He shouldn't have come here. It's too late though.

Loki's eyes are big and disbelieving. He stalks past Darcy and comes to the entrance of the room the voice came from. He sees a small boy sitting on a worn couch. And the first thing that hits Loki is that the child has his eyes. Deep, dark green fathomless depths on fair skin. The boy, no older than two, is his spitting image down to the ebony hair. Loki puts two and two together. He can hear Darcy behind him but he's too absorbed with this new discovery.

His sleeve is pulled roughly and Loki whirls around. "You didn't tell me." His words are accusing but also full of hurt. "Why?" Darcy stays quiet.

Derrick is confused and scared. A clap of thunder breaks the silence and the boy can't help but squeak. "Mommy!" he screams for Darcy with more urgency this time and whimpers at a strike of lightning. His mother rushes to his side and takes him in her arms. Her hands hold him securely against her chest and she whispers encouragements in his ear.

Loki watches in awe the scene unfolding. Strangely he doesn't feel out of place when the boy's eyes land on him. "Who is he, mommy?" he asks and buries his face in Darcy's shoulder.

"I am your father." Loki tells the boy. Darcy wants to smack him for being so straight forward.

"Really? You're my daddy?" Derrick is beside himself. He looks to his mother for confirmation and Darcy can do nothing but nod. She is rewarded with a million watt smile and the boy trying to make her put him down.

"Derrick!" Darcy admonishes. "Stop it."

"Let him be." Loki butts in and takes Derrick from her arms despite her protests. The boy is perfectly content with it and clings to his father like a second skin.

Darcy just knows this means trouble. Wherever Loki is, trouble is sure to follow. The only thing she wants is to keep her son safe. If anything happens to Derrick on Loki's account, Darcy swears she'll rip his head off, god or not.

Loki glances her way with amusement as if hearing her thoughts. "It's going to be alright." he tells her. Somehow Darcy finds that hard to believe. Nothing has been alright ever since she met Loki. No doubt that's not going to change. Darcy feels a headache coming. This is definitely going to hell.

"It better be."


	2. Hands

_They say that at the beginning humans were neither male, nor female; they were both, they were whole. But fearing their power, the gods divided them in two halves; one male, the other female. Like this they were doomed to search for the soul-mate without the guarantee that their other half would be found. But a life bereft of one's soul-mate was empty, almost useless and there were many who could not reach theirs._

_Taking pity of the humans, the higher being residing in heaven allowed them to know one thing about their other halves. The name. Each person would have the name of their destined pair written in the palm of their hand. It would permeate itself into their skin, letting the know the same they searched for. So the gods decreed to soothe the blow delivered when they split the humans in two._

Darcy closed the book with a thud that screamed of finality. The words she had read left ghosts in front of her eyes and a metallic taste in her mouth. She throws the tome against the wall, silently fuming because she's Darcy and at this age having something set in stone is too much to handle. She's never been much of a follower. Her mother doesn't come up and for that she's grateful. Of course then the reason of her mother not coming up flashes in her mind and all that gratefulness dissipates. Her father is sick again and they can't afford to keep him hospitalized so his wife looks after him.

A bit calmer now, Darcy lifts her right hand in the dim light and pulls her fingerless glove off. The black material slides against her skin pleasantly and falls to the floor with a soft whoosh. She peeks at the palm in front of her eyes and there's a frown.

The script is cursive and elegant with loops and well defined edges. Those four letters inscribed inside her hand are simply beautiful. She mouths the name quietly, testing it on her tongue. "Loki." The syllables pour out and it's almost like she's chanting. Of course, her mind can't help a snide remark; because, really, who names their child Loki? It's so strange and uncommon. But then she realises she shouldn't be the one to point her finger; her name isn't exactly common either. Who names their only daughter Darcy? "Mom and her love for Jane Austen. But really now, Darcy?!"

She remembers her mother saying that an uncommon name will make it easier to find your soul-mate. But the she would think so considering she's Allison and her father is Damian. Those are rather widespread names and make finding your other half a bit difficult at least. So Darcy breathes deeply and holds her hand to her heart. "There can't be many Lokis out there." she reasons, because obviously there aren't many myth-obsessed parents around. But there must be some, she rationalizes because her friend Jane has _Thor_ scrawled messily across her palm.

* * *

 


	3. Palms

_The ancient writings speak of a creature with such power that the gods decided splitting it in two halves was the only thing to stop it. And so the first man and woman happened. They were frail and thin, pain coursing through their veins at the shock of being separated. What was once now had been forcibly broken with scant a way of joining again. Human were now at the mercy of the gods; yet the deities themselves depended on these newly weakened beings to bring offerings. One cannot exist if forgotten, not even the inhabitants of heaven._

_In their anger the ones called humans started neglecting their duties. The altars were dark and in ruins, the powers of the divinities fading like the smoke of their being. But what is once done cannot be undone. The humans could not be put back together in a single body, but there could be a union. Fainter than before this new joining of bodies represented the perfect solution; the humans would receive a less powerful way of merging together and the gods would revel in their gratitude and be lavished with gifts, recovering from the suffered blow._

Loki puts _Plato_ down before he can read about predestines names, the soft sound almost a caress. He has read it over and over again and the spine of the book is wrinkled now. He doesn't bother to put it back in its place knowing all too well that he'll open it once more. Frowning he leans back in his chair and blames his brain for not quieting down. There are too many thoughts in his head. Approaching the matter differently, Loki tries to think of what he's read; he knows it by heart but there is mystery in this tale that he's unable to touch.

With a soft smile, one he doesn't use outside the walls of his room, he glances at his left hand. Marble skin is covered by a gauzy, yet strong material of emerald green. His mother said it matched his eyes. Loki cares little for that but still nodded his head accordingly and offered a smile. Carefully, almost as if he's afraid the dark haired boy pulls the glove off and places it on the desk, next to _Plato_ ; which is fitting.

Cool air hits his hand but Loki doesn't mind. His eyes are trained on his palm where a name is etched. He can't help the smile that overcomes him as the letters display rough edges and a trembling script. Whoever this Darcy is, she's got terrible handwriting. Loki decides this will be the first thing he tells her.

He often wonders what this girl is like; if she truly is his soul-mate he hopes she's nothing like Sif with her wiles and brutality. But then again he's not sure he wants that. Then he realises he doesn't know what he wants. It's a relief when Thor comes in to complain that Jane is much too common a name.

* * *


	4. Fingers

Meeting Darcy hits him like a train, full force, almost knocking him down. Loki doesn't expect it, which makes the situation all the more pleasing. He's out with Thor, after much cajoling on the blonde's side. Like any other time, his brother drags him around completely unaware of being annoying. Loki doesn't complain; there's no use in it anyway. The younger brother simply follows Thor, one step behind.

But all of a sudden there's a tingling in his palm. Loki tries to brush it off. It doesn't work; as a result he tentatively scratches softly with the tips of his fingers. It doesn't stop. He sighs and shoves his hand in the pocket of his black pants. Raising his eyes, something catches his attention. Although the street is busy, a figure stands out in the mass of people. She is rather short with dark chestnut hair and an hourglass shape. She is nothing special so it baffles Loki that she's captured his attention. What is it about her that attracts him? The realisation crops on him like a brick; she's glowing. Not the figurative 'she's happy and shiny', no; she's literally surrounded by light. The itch in his palm grows tenfold.

At the same time one Darcy Lewis glares at her glove-clad hand. The name written on it burns, rather painfully, and she has no idea why. It's not like she poured vinegar on it again; she did do that once and ended up feeling sick for days. Her mother said it was probably because her soul-mate wasn't very fond of the bitter substance. Still, right now her hand feels like a needle cushion. She rubs it against the material of her jeans and moodily looks up, eyes set in a glower.

The pain is all but forgotten when she sees a tall, dark male in front of her. For a moment she stares, not completely comprehending why her breath catches in her throat or why he looks like he's made of shiny shadows. The green of his eyes crashes with her coffee-coloured orbs and holds. It takes her another moment to realise he's approaching her. And she simply can't move away, even if she wanted to, not that she wants to.

True to character the words that come out his mouth are, "Your writing is simply appalling." She gawks at his but doesn't say a thing before he adds, "Nice to meet you, Darcy." He smirks.

"You write like a girl." It's retaliation oh her part more than complaining. She does find his writing appealing, after all. "Not sure I can reciprocate as happily, Loki." The smile she gives him is genial.

It's only minutes since they've seen each other and already it feels like they've known one another long before. Loki extends his glove covered hand to her and she does the same. The prickle is pleasantly muted as their hands touch and they both smile at the contact.

Everything is perfect until Thor yells, "Loki! Who's this?"

* * *

 


	5. Queenship

Darcy leaned in the doorway and stared at her oldest son pacing. She prevented a sigh from escaping her lips and took a step forward. The soft thud of her movement brought the attention of the young Jötunn prince. He stared at his mother one moment before his icy blue eyes turned to the floor. Without a word he started pacing the lengths of his room again.

"What bothers you, my son?" Darcy asked even though she had no need to. As queen of Jötunheim, she knew everything that moved in her lands.

Eons ago she had been offered to Loki Laufeyson as means to strike a deal with the God of Mischief. And being one for survival, Darcy adapted to her new life. She first befriended her new husband and soon grew to be fond of him. When she gave birth to their first son those feelings only burrowed deeper in her heart. Soon it could be safely said she loved him.

"Leif, do not ignore me." Her voice was sharp as a knife as it cut through the silence.

"Forgive me mother." Leif said wearily and brushed trembling fingers through his inky black locks. "I am tired and-"

Darcy cut him off with a snort, "Apparently not tired enough to pick fights. What possessed you to get in a brawl?" she demanded and briskly hurried to him across the room. "And do not lie to me." Her hands framed his face, guiding his eyes to hers. Blue clashed with blood red as Leif assumed his Jötunn form. The change from white to blue didn't faze his mother. "Speak!"

"I cannot – mother, he was absolutely improper, his words – you should've heard him – were an affront to our family. I could not stand by and hear him speak. He should count himself lucky father wasn't present –"

"Enough!" Darcy suddenly interrupted. Crimson eyes widened in bewilderment. "Do not ever, and I mean ever, do anything like this again. When you want to punish someone use your wit to bring them to their knees. Brute force should be the last option." she explained a lot more calmly. Despite her words Leif saw a flicker of something in her eyes. "This time you will be forgiven on account of your inexperience."

Before Leif could add anything else, Darcy smiled softly at him and pulled his head down to place a kiss on his forehead. "Sleep well." She said and turned around. Her long dark blue dress whirled with her; the folds shimmered in the candlelight as she walked out of the room.

Once she was in the hallway Darcy let out a sigh and closed her eyes in despair. Her lithe form slumped against the wall, the coolness of it relaxing her slightly. She stood still for a moment before continuing on to her rooms.

On the way she passed her second son's room and peeked inside; satisfied to see him, her Derrick with his ever green eyes, hunched over a thick book she walked to her daughters' rooms. Livny had long since gone to bed, her emerald eyes closed, while Dagny, her twin in everything but those eyes, sat in front of the mirror brushing her hair.

Certain that all was in order, Darcy hurried across the halls to her and Loki's room. She entered the imposing doors fully assuming that she'd be alone. Loki had gone to a peace treaty and they weren't expecting him back for another fortnight.

Upon setting foot in the room the image of her husband appeared before her. "I have finished with that blasted treaty." Forest green glinted in the dim lighting, and Darcy wasted no time in running in his arms a second later. She glued herself to him and sighed in contentment when he brushed his hand against her hair.

"Did you miss me that much, wife?" he voiced in his deep baritone, filling her ears. Her eyes set in a glare at the meaning behind his words and she punched his chest, despite knowing it had little effect on him.

With a push she distanced herself from him. Loki smirked and Darcy scowled. "No, in fact I didn't miss you at all." She threw him a smirk of her own as a plan bloomed in her mind. "I have replaced you if you must know." Mirth danced in her eyes.

Loki's face froze in horrified disbelief for just a moment until he looked in her eyes. She laughed aloud eliciting a rather loud tut from her husband. "Don't ever say that again. I won't stand for it." he warned harshly but with no real malice.

"You won't?" she mocked teasingly. "Okay, then I'll behave." Darcy said in fake resignation and pouted her lips in a fashion reminding of a scolded child.

"How did you handle my absence?"

"Fairly easy husband. Although you may have to train your oldest son in the art of diplomacy." The woman responded without a trace of hesitation. "He's quickly angered I fear."

"What happened?" Loki curiously questioned and sat on the edge of the bed. He patted the space next to him and Darcy sat down too. She thoroughly presented the situation to her husband, taking care not to leave anything out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki has a daughter. Problems ensue...

There were many things to fear in life. Too many, in fact, to ever plan an escape from every unpleasant situation. Loki considered himself to be above most of them, though. But he wasn't. At least not anymore. And it was all Darcy's fault. That infuriating woman was to blame for this misfortune. Damn the wholly unsophisticated, yet captivating female for managing to make this real. The human had the gall to attract him into her bed, then make sure he never wanted to leave it once she was done with him. And as if that had not been enough, she went and got herself pregnant and gave birth to a boy, whom was his father's pride and joy. He had never intended to tie himself to a mortal and her progenitors. But it didn't stop there, she had just have another one.

The most horrifying thing was that this time the woman had managed to outdo herself, in the worst way possible. She had given him a daughter. A tiny bundle of exquisite appearance with fine bone structure, milky, soft skin and the most beautiful bluish-green eyes he had ever seen. Iselinn looked up at her father and Loki could feel his heart melting. He raised his face in the general direction of his wife and scowled. "Look what you've done now. She's gorgeous." Therein laid the problem. His daughter was magnificent. Even too much so. He glared at the male physician who cooed at the baby.

Darcy rolled her eyes at him. "Isn't she? She'll be the most beautiful girl here." She was clearly not impressed with his antics. "I bet she'll have a lot of attention, my pretty girl."

His exasperating spouse was a proud mother who didn't see the error of her ways. His daughter was only a few days old and already her good looks turned heads. Loki shuddered at the thought of her growing up and attending Odin's feasts. Other gods would see her there. Damn them. In that moment he decided that his daughter would never be subjected to the clumsy fawning of those oafs. With a bit of luck he would be able to keep her to her own room, secluded and safely away from blundering idiots. If only he could convince Darcy of the necessity of his actions.

"Can you imagine that twelve years from now she may come and tell us about her first crush?" Darcy gushed, a dreamy look on her face.

"Over my dead body!" the god hissed, eyes narrowing into slits. "There will be no boys until I'm dead."

"You are exaggerating. It's not like she'll grow up anytime soon. She's only a few days old."

"But they are looking at her!" he shot back furiously then glared again for good measure at the doctor. Suddenly he was very angry at her that she made him care so much. It was all her fault.

The mother smiled with a look of pride on her features. "Let them."

Loki felt his heart crack in anxiety. How could she say that? His heart was galloping inside his chest. Was it possible for a god to have a heart attack? If so, then he might be the victim of one.

"Let them not!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suitors beware!


	7. Consent

Loki towers over the fool who has decided he is good enough to even glance at his daughter, an ominous look on his face. The boy looks positively terrified yet makes no sound and Iselinn sits behind her father with a faraway look etched on her features. She smiles at a memory unaware of her father's foul mood and its cause. Darcy throws a venomous look at the God of Mischief and then smiles kindly at the young god before them. As if encouraged by that very smile the boy repeats his request. Loki almost jumps out of his seat to strangle him but Darcy takes hold of his hand. Perhaps he is going soft in his old age, "Iselinn." he calls out to his daughter.

Blue-green eyes favour him with a look before they settle on the man before her. Her own smile is a testimony of her mother's influence on her. But Loki knows all to well that behind the smile she has already figured out the worth of her suitor. Iselinn 's dreamy look doesn't lave her face as she listens to the invitation extended to her. To her father's horror she happily accepts and he has half a mind to bind her to the chair. Instead he scowls at the thorn in his side. Darcy sets he mouth in a grim line and tugs delicately on his hand. It's a warning he is not keen on disregarding.

And so for the next few minutes the Prince of Asgard has his hands tied and can only cast a few murderous looks that Darcy quickly intercepts and shakes her head. In that moment Loki decides that Thor is lucky Gwendolyn is only five and a scrap of a girl who would rather bite boys than dance with them. And speaking of her, he can barely see the little blonde tidbit hiding behind her mother's dress, no doubt holding the knife that has been recently gifted to her. If only Iselinn would be more like her cousin he would be able to get a full night's rest.

Iselinn is turning out much like her mother predicted. Darcy beams at her dancing daughter simultaneously holding back Loki. He can complain all he wants after their daughter has had her dance. "I have no idea why you worry so much. Iselinn is your daughter too; she can throw spells faster than anyone can blink. And I'm referring to those of the potentially dangerous and harming variety." Loki doesn't look convinced. "Loki she has to stand on her own two feet; she can't be your little girl forever." Iselinn spins on the dancing floor and Loki looks as if he has seen her for the first time.

"Your assessment won't stop me from making that boy's life a living hell once this dance is over. My girl was perfectly content to read her book and practice her magic until you put this idea into her head." Iselinn looks towards them and her smile brightens the room. Darcy smirks in triumph. "Let the girl have a break from all those books and live a little."


	8. Deterioration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU! goddess! Darcy and human!Loki dark-ish

Ageless eyes watch him, Loki is aware if not flattered. Darcy is sprawled on his bed, her whole form naked. Her skin is freezing against his blazing hot. His fingers gently brush her curly mane, letting the chill bite him. As it often happens after their passions has died down to embers, Loki finds himself contemplating their arrangement.

Lady Darcy is actually a goddess. Not metaphorically speaking either. She is a Norse deity whose age he barely manages to wrap his mind around. And she's in bed with him. Of all the men on Earth she chose him. He would count himself lucky, if only she was not so much trouble. Darcy is a ticking time bomb, a disaster just waiting to happen. She is the sort of woman who lies with ease and feels good about doing it and he is, in contrast, honest to the roots of his being. Falling for her is not something he wants to do but she leaves him little choice. But through the veil of deceit he can still feel a kind heart buried under years of silent pain. That part of him that thinks it can heal anything wants to fix her, so badly.

But Darcy does not want to be fixed. She wants to forget, she wants to have fun with this mortal who will disappear in the blink on an eye. He is no more than a second in her lifeline, one single star in her empty universe. Loki hates it sometimes, that she can be so distant when he slides deeper and deeper with no way to turn around. There are days when he wants to get up and leave, ask her to stop appearing out of nowhere and leave him alone. Darcy literally passes through the walls into his apartment and turns the whole place upside down. She does the same to his heart. Before her he was just a normal man. He wants it all back, his heart and his life, but Loki is quite sure Darcy would not give them up. What is hers she does not let go of.

The man lets his head fall down on the pillow, her breath a frosty whisper against him. He does not have the power to deny her, he never did. One look from her and he is a willing victim. In the back of his mind he hears Natasha laughing at him. The Russian woman is one of the few who know about Darcy, she is also the one who told him he was falling in love with the goddess. Tasha, Loki thinks, is amazing. 

Darcy does not share his opinion it seems because her fingers are digging into his side, blunt nails dragging painfully into his flesh.

"You should really stay out of my head," Loki murmurs, eyes closing, "if you do not wish to hear my thoughts."

"You should not be thinking about another woman when you are with me," she replies with just a hint of anger. "Next time I will not be this merciful."

"What makes you think there will be a next time?" he asks, not really interested in getting an answer. There is always a next time with her, but he has no idea for how long. "I may get tired."

"Don't be foolish, mortal. I am the one who decides when it ends," Darcy responds acidly. "The last time will be when I decide."

Loki shakes his head. She can leave him at any moment and he has no right to complain. "Right." These wounds and scars are best left hidden in that dark corner. "Than means you go when you wish to." He turns away from her embrace.

"I do not want to go," she confesses after a moment of silence. "I am not yet done with you."

Is this her way of telling him that she has grown fond of him? She is a liar after all, by her very nature; her words cannot be trusted. Loki feels her body slide against his like water. She burrows in his warmth, still icy as the blood that runs in her veins. Silence falls between them. He will ask her for nothing and she will give nothing in return. This is the way it is for them.

The press on her lips to his shoulder is the only comfort.


	9. Quicksand

There are tidbits of sunshine and happiness dancing in front of her eyes. Small fragments bathed in ethereal light call her, ever so enticingly, and Darcy is hard-pressed not to reach out to them. Red coats her vision and for one short moment she is confused. Where has the happiness disappeared to? Still, warm, red treks its way down her face. Or she thinks it's her face. Now Darcy's acutely aware that she can't feel much of anything. But she can tell with unwavering certainty that the life giving serum, so very precious to her, is swiftly leaving her body. Strange that she should feel so very lethargic and not do anything about it. Perplexingly enough, she can't recall a reason to fight. Her mind is too muddled and maybe that hit to the head she took is aggravating things. Maybe she cracked her skull open and that's where the blood is leaking from. Her eyes sting, Darcy realizes briefly, and the taste of metal floods her mouth. There is something she is forgetting. But what is it? She simply can't recall. Darcy tells herself it's not important if she can't remember it. And still, whatever it is, it lurks in the shadows of her exhausted mind.

Most unexpectedly her mind wraps around what is happening to her. Darcy suddenly knows she's going. In a small fit of panic she tries to get up but the only things she manages to do is choke on her own blood, in all the agitation. How did it get to this? The memories elude her but she knows it's not something without value. Somehow she manages to cough blood but it's still making her gag. At least the panic is gone. Of course Darcy doesn't want to die yet. Who would? But what keeps her here? It's essential, whatever it is. Whatever he is. Whoever he is. It dawns upon her that her reason is not an it. It's a he. Or is it them? It definitely involves a he, and maybe it is a them. Her mind, in a moment of lucidity, whispers it's an us. Darcy wonders who us is.

Bereft of all her energy, Darcy is slow on the uptake. A smooth smile makes her heart tremble while a distinct, soft voice fills her eyes with tears. Jet black hair flits before her and cold feels warm against her. For some odd reason she pictures Norse myths, a strange name for a hammer, which she can barely pronounce, and a devilishly handsome being she should have kept well away from. Darcy has never been one for rules. She wanted what she wanted, and what she wanted she usually got. It's the small image of a boy that makes her want to cry out. He looks at her with bright eyes and she wants to take him in her arms. It's her motherly instinct, she realizes with a start. And he, the boy, is her son, all bright and cheery. Her arms ache, Darcy wants to fill them with something but she can barely move them. And then there is another, the dark prince who extends his hand to her. She can't reach back to him.

It's so unfair. Rebelling against it is too much of an effort for her though. She's not ready to go yet. She'll never be ready to go. Darcy wants to stay. She wants to hug her son and tell her prince of the ice lands how exceptionally stupid he is for not seeing his own worth. How can someone so smart be so stupid? And she won't get to see her son grow. That hurts. It hurts that she won't be able to be by his side, comfort him, love him. Would they get over it? Over her? Like she never even existed. The world would keep spinning. The sun would rise again. Only it won't be the same. She won't be here anymore. Darcy thinks that she remembers their names. The names of her loved ones, she can almost taste them on her tongue. It's bittersweet. And realty crushes her with all the power of a brick wall falling onto her. The sweetness fades away and leaves bitter, metallic ashes in its wake. There is not much she can do now, trapped in her flesh and bones; they drag her down.

.

.

.

_Loki lifts Darcy with ease, refusing to acknowledge the blood sliding down his front. There is still life in there and while she's still breathing he won't give up._


	10. Visionary

The god of Mischief stared curiously at the young girl before him. She couldn't be older than twelve. Her small frame rested against a concrete wall while puffs of air materialized in front of her face. She hadn't noticed him yet, too busy staring at the falling snow to see anything else. Despite the blatant lack of awareness on her part, Loki's gaze had focused on her as soon as she came into view. There was something about this girl. He couldn't tare his eyes off of her.

Finally, after what seemed like eons, she turned her head towards him. Loki could practically see himself reflected in her blue gaze. Blue, such a lovely colour. He half expected her to shy away after the first contact, but she did no such thing, instead opting to hold his gaze defiantly. For some strange reason Loki found it amusing, hence his chuckle. The girl smiled in return. "Darcy Lewis." she said after a few seconds, her face scrunched in a serious façade and her hand outstretched. Loki wanted to laugh again. She was so strange.

"Loki Odinson." he told her and gingerly took her tiny hand in his, swaying it gently; a smile still decorated his features. He was mindful of her weak constitution and his superior strength. She grinned happily up at him and was about to say something when a person called out to her. "Darcy! Come on, we have to go."

The god stared at the source of the voice. A rather short woman with curly brown tresses stood next to a taller – at least one head taller – man who was looking in another direction. The woman looked at him suspiciously. Loki glared back at her. "I'm going now, mister. Mommy is calling for me." Darcy – interesting name – said and skipped from his side to that of her mother.

"Farewell, Darcy." Loki whispered after her. 'I hope our paths will cross again.' How could he have known that his thought would prove to be prophetic?


	11. Net

One small moment, and the world shatters around her. A – gust of wind blows a – heavy curtain of hair in her face, it obscures her view. Darcy grits her teeth and her eyes glow with the anger she does not – yet – have an outlet to. Bright orbs want to drown everything in them, the calmness of the sea. Darcy makes a mad dash for the source of her misery, her – imaginary – backpack hitting her with every step.

A fist flies out. It collides with a gaunt cheek and the bones in her hand quiver. The force she put behind her blow goes both ways. She curses a fright and sinks her nails in the other hand. "You! You vermin! Scum! How dare you show you face around here?!" She yells and yells until her throat is sore. But her visitor is unmoved by her display. "Get out!" She pushes against him – when all she really wants is to keep clinging to him – in vain.

Suddenly two hands grip her shoulders, applying a great deal of pressure. Darcy stills her movements. She waits for him to say something. Anything. And he does not disappoint. "Have you been taking you medicine?" He shakes her away gently. "Miss Lewis, can you answer the question?"

She hadn't expected this. "Loki, why are you asking me about this?" She is genuinely confused, and it shows as a frown on her – too pale – face. "You sound like one of those doctors." She laughs – hysterically – because it's so damn funny. "I swear you sound just like one of them." She flings herself in his arms and wraps hers around him. "I missed you."

"Miss Lewis," Loki says, uncertainty in his words, "when was the last time you took the pills." He pries her away again.

"Loki!" Darcy exclaims, all of a sudden annoyed with him. "What's with all these questions?" She continues her tirade a while longer. "Or have they managed to make you believe it too?" She gives him a cross stare when he fails to answer. "I am not crazy," Darcy insists.

"Of course not, Miss Lewis," Loki immediately agrees. "Would you like me to leave?"

Darcy tilts her head to the side. "What I would like is a cup of coffee. And a walk outside. And a change of clothes. This white clashes horribly with my skin." She blinks owlishly. "What have you been up to Loki?"

He coughs. "Not much, I have finished my latest thesis and I'm going to get it published." Loki has no idea why he's explaining this to her. She watches him absently, her mind miles away. "And you miss Lewis?"

"Oh, this and that," she replies nonchalantly. "But instead of a thesis, shouldn't you work on that glowing cube of yours?" One eyebrow rises in question. "Have you given up world domination?"

As if burned, Loki rises to his feet and goes to the door. He stops for a brief second, looks like he's about to turn around, but then decides against it and opens the door. He tells something to another man dressed in white. He is handed something and swiftly closes the door.

"I have something for you," he tells Darcy. "Be a good girl and take this." He opens her pal and places a couple of pills in it. "You'll feel better afterwards."

Her refusal comes with a violent shake of her head and the childish gesture of throwing the pills to the ground. "No!" she screams out categorically. "You cannot make me!"

That's when a pair of women walks in. They flank Darcy and hold her. She trashes desperately as they force the pills down her throat. "Swallow." She hears Loki order. "Come on Miss Lewis, I have no time for this. Be a good girl and take your pills and then we'll let you rest."

In the end she can do nothing but ingest the pills. But it is far from over. As soon as her mouth is free she starts screeching at the top of lungs. "Loki! I want to leave this place. Please, Loki! Please, I want to go out!"

The door closes with a loud thud and her yells come to a halt. She is alone Darcy reclines on the ground, spreading out her limbs. She drags in – the scent of freshly cut grass – air, filling her lungs with it. "Come back, Loki. I'm bored," she whispers.

On the other side of the wall, two voices hold a conversation she cannot make much out of. Still she hears her name being mentioned and smiles dumbly. So they haven't forgotten her. She hopes not because then they might bring her another gown, one with livelier colours, because as she said white is not for her.

A sort of strange tiredness creeps over her. Darcy muffles a yawn. She falls asleep on the ground, sure than when she will wake, Loki will visit her again


	12. Walls

_Loki, Loki, Loki._ Her voice rings in his ears. Where did she ever find out what his name is? Loki curses and fiddles with his tie for the hundredth time. He can't get her image out of his head, and it's darn distracting. In a bad way. That woman is not even sane for God's sake. She thinks he's some sort of villain who plans to take over the world.

"But she's got a fabulous imagination," Thor tells him once, when they are discussing patients. "You have to admit that it's a really complex world she built in her imagination."

He doesn't have to admit anything, Loki decides after a moment. "I would rather she would be less fabulous, as you put it." And he would, because despite the fact that she's constantly calling his name, she's not actually calling him.

The _Loki_ she screams for when she's made to take her pills is certainly not him. It's her made up hero, villain or whatever he is. And that really drives him crazy. The tie strains against his neck. Distantly he wonders if it's possible to suffocate himself with it. Maybe. He unties the blasted thing and sends it flying to the floor. A glass of spirits rests on the table. Loki takes it without blinking and downs the whole thing. On the bright side, he's no longer suffocating. The alcohol soothes him, to a point. And once he is relaxed, it's time for her to invade his mind again.

Miss Darcy Lewis, Loki thinks bitterly. He cannot help but wonder what would have happened had she been at least a little bit sane. They might have got along tremendously. But, as is his luck, Loki never did like the normal girls. It makes sense that he would fall for one on the other side altogether. Luckily, he has learned long ago to keep things like these to himself. Thor makes his life hard enough. "Never give my brother more ammo than needed," he mutters, filling the glass again.

 _Loki, Loki, Loki,_ goes the chant again, threatening to affect him even more. He can't get it out of his head. He can't get her out of his head. Damn it, he's tired of it all. She wants this and she wants that, and Loki is half convinced to give her everything she wants. A new dress, a walk outside. He even considers becoming her villain. Her hero? Her anything really. She can ask whatever of him. For the moment he is willing to do whatever she asks.

Or maybe not. Reality hits him with its force. That woman is mad, Loki reminds himself, and I'm drunk. He swallows some more burning liquid, feeling it glide down his throat. "I'm drunk," he says to no one in particular. "She's absolutely crazy and I'm totally smashed. What a couple we are."

Only they are not. A couple that is. Because Loki never tells her anything besides that she is supposed to take her pills. The perfect actress, Darcy Lewis plays her part, obstinately refusing to do as she's told.


	13. Cookware

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or "Know your way around the kitchen: Darcy's guide to using a frying pan", with the special appearance of one well-loved God of Mischief.

"Oh, for the love of-" Darcy stopped midsentence and squinted. Of all the things that happened during rainstorms blackouts bugged her out the most. This became especially clear on nights such like these ones when she had just finished an entire season of one horror show that made her terrified of her own shadow. "Where the heck did I put that stupid light?"

The wooden floor squeaked under her feat and she hurried forward, accidentally bumping her toes against a chair. Spitting out a string of curses Darcy bent to massage the abused appendages. Her next move was to avoid bumping into anything again. Through the darkness she made her way to the kitchen. Once there the bespectacled woman grabbed the first thing she could reach, planning to use it as protection. The rain was beating a steady rhythm against the window, lightning accompanied by thunder occurring every now and then. "Thor, nice of you to play the soundtrack of my life," mumbled Darcy rather sarcastically.

Behind her something made a loud noise. Rather like a soldier Darcy spun around bringing her weapon down on whatever, or whoever, the unlucky disturber was, all the while she screamed bloody murder. Her unfortunate victim grunted at the impact but did not move. Darcy was about to deliver a second blow when the lights flicked on.

Loki stood before her, a haughtily and mildly annoyed expression firmly plastered on his face. Emerald eyes flashed with warning and for some unknown reason it provoked Darcy. It never did occur to her that her mighty weapon was in fact a frying pan and that the image presented was absurd at best. Again she hurled it at him. This time Loki dodged letting the pan clatter to the floor and scowled at the woman. "What in the name of Yggdrasil are you doing, foolish human?"

"Teaching you how to use a door like any other civilized being on Earth!" she yelled and promptly dashed to the floor, fingers curling around the discarded object. She brought herself up and advanced towards a very irritated Loki. "Is it so hard for you to do this one little thing?"

"Daft woman! I can perfectly well transport myself anywhere I want to go; why would I use the door?" he asked, utterly confused about the fuss she was making.

"You are missing the point Loki. It is not polite to just pop over, or whatever you call it, at someone's house." Darcy said slowly as if explaining this for a child.

Rolling his eyes, Loki leaned in, closing the distance between them. "I do what I want." he whispered against her mouth.

"The hell you do," growled one cross Darcy, a mere second away from intimately reacquainting him with the pan again.

Just as she was about to pound him senseless he vanished into thin air. With a sigh of despair Darcy put the pan back on the counter and brushed her fingers through her tousled hair. "At least the light is on now."


	14. Graitude

Loki grimaces but dares not distract Thor from what he is doing. It is a risk he is willing to take; letting his brother save his son that is. Loki would have done it himself yet in his weakened state it would prove unwise, so he is forced to stay here with his head in a trembling Darcy's lap. The woman is sniffling softly as she looks him over, fingers gliding over the major wounds, and waits impatiently for Thor to bring Derrick back.

"You said it would be fine." she says faintly, tiredness dampening her usually bright mood. "You said it would be fine. Now look what's happened!"

He can say nothing to comfort her so he lets her unburden herself. There is no novelty in the blame being placed on him. And Darcy's reaction is understandable. She is Derrick's mother and more than once she had put herself in harm's way to keep her son safe. Dimly he realises that her hands are balled into tiny fists, nails digging into her tender flesh. He takes one of her balled fists in his own hand; he still cannot tell her anything to ease her suffering. What could erase her anxiety in such moments? Nothing, of course, there is nothing.

"I swear to you, Loki Odinson, that if my son does not come back to me I-" she can't continue, tears are choking her. "God! Let my baby come back safe. Just keep him safe." She draws her hair back with shaking fingers and bites her tongue to keep from dissolving into tears.

There is something to be said about this woman of his, Loki thinks as he watches her through half-closed eyes, too tired to try convincing her to calm down. He can feel the fear rolling off of her in waves and yet she's throwing around threats, which no doubt she would see through if something did happen to their son. Derrick is just a child, helpless to defend himself in the face of danger and that made him the perfect target. Once his wounds are healed, Loki promises himself that those who dared tough his son will meet with endless suffering.

The moment Thor enters with a sleeping Derrick in his arms, Darcy dashes over to her son and Loki slowly rises, ignoring the strain he places on his body. His son looks unharmed, a little bit shaken with his hair flying everywhere and tear tracks on his face, but otherwise he seems alright. Darcy takes him to her chest with careful movements. Best let him sleep it off. Loki approaches the two and gently strokes the boy's forehead, going over what he knows. Darcy loses herself to the maternal instinct pulsing through her and avidly tries to detect anything wrong with her child. Now, her trembling is not fear, but excitement.

Thor pulls Loki aside, putting a hand on his shoulder. "This is not good news brother. One of them had managed to escape and you know how they are. No doubt he'll be back before we know it with even more power."

A curse leaves Loki's lips. "How is that possible? I thought I destroyed him all those years ago." This enemy proves to be a valiant one. A true challenge. "I cannot put Darcy and my son at risk again."

Blue eyes darkening dangerously, Thor nods. "Bring them home with you. They will be much safer there." the blond suggests.

"She is not yet ready." Loki replies, emerald orbs settling on a warming scene. Darcy sits down with Derrick in her hold and places her cheek on the top of his head. "She is not ready to leave this world behind."

"Time has a way of passing undetected," Thor warns, knowing all too well that Darcy's lifespan is behind his or Loki's. "You don't have the luxury of waiting for her forever. You don't have forever brother."

The words are heard but not accepted. "Her soul will survive. I will find her again."

No answer comes from Thor. The prince of Asgard shrugs. "You know best what it is." He turns around to leave, glancing once more to his younger brother's lover and offspring.

Mortal eyes offer him her gratitude when Darcy spots him. "You saved my son. Thank you." she voices sincerely, tears shining in her cobalt orbs.


	15. Arrival

Darcy dips the rag in clean water as Loki enters the massive tent, flaps swaying in his wake. She barely looks up before her vision is bathed in violent red over dark blue. Everything is painted in blood. Scarlet drips from the tips of his hair while other strands stick to his face; scarlet also stains his armour and stretches over his skin. A grimace settles on Darcy's lips at the fearsome image Loki exhibits. He doesn't seem hurt, but she can't really tell with the protective coverings obstructing her view and the way he keeps himself tall and proud.

She beckons him over with a crook of her finger. His helmet meets the ground, followed by the chest plate and various other pieces of his armour. Darcy puts them away after cleansing the proof of Loki's victory off. Then she turns back to him, throwing the piece of cloth in the lukewarm water. Her attention is solely on him now as he sits down and lets her divest him of his blood-soaked tunic. The garment is flung away with little concern and the wet rag is retrieved in a span of five seconds. She is not hasty, just swift.

With feathery movements, the woman brushes water to his face, removing all the red, leaving behind clear, dark blue. The delicate ridges adorning his face are visible now and Darcy traces them with the tips of her fingers. Loki leans into her touch, a content growl quaking through him and seeping into her frame. The warrior is at peace now that the fight is over. She smiles and goes on with the washing. She sweeps and scrubs until all the blood is gone and the naturally blue skin takes its place. Satisfied with her work, Darcy puts the instruments away.

Two strong hands grip both of her sides and pull her into his lap. Loki's face breaks out in a grin, which is contagious as Darcy can't help mirroring it. There is something in his fiery eyes that makes her melt against him despite his customary coldness. One movement later, she's underneath him, dainty fingers tangling in sleeked back, raven hair. She can almost feel her pulse thrumming beneath his lips but the loud beating of her heart distracts her. Frosty lips brush against her own and she can't stop the mewl leaving her. The sound in swallowed by him.

Her hands move, as does his. At the end of the day, Loki is a man who, despite being a strong warrior, needs to get and give what everyone else does: love. If it means that she can hold him as she does now and burn together with him as one, she had no qualms with it. The world be damned, at Loki's side she can neither wish, nor care for nothing else, for anything else. He seems to be of a mind with her when he whispers, "Stop thinking, just feel." And he's back to stealing her breath away.


End file.
